Reconnect with your inner child: healing and emotional self-knowledge

In the daily hustle and bustle, where every responsibility stretches us in multiple directions, we often disconnect from the child we once were, whose echo still resonates within us. Often, this disconnection arises from difficult experiences that we prefer to relegate to oblivion; however, by recognizing them, we open the door to paths of self-knowledge and profound growth.

Our co-founder Ursula Pfeiffer illustrates this with her own story: “I grew up between polarities of euphoria and deep depression… and learned to constantly adapt” (00:03:51). Her testimony prompted her to honestly explore her emotions, demonstrating that the first step towards integration consists of embracing what we thought was buried.

Remembering that childhood version—the one who needed care, validation, and coherence—is not an exercise in nostalgia but in mental health. When a painful episode freezes our emotional development, a “photograph” is generated that, years later, reappears in the form of reactivity: a comment disproportionately hurts us, a criticism paralyzes us, or a compliment drags us to please. Reconnecting with the inner child implies deactivating that trigger and replacing it with an adult response based on choice, not impulse.

Furthermore, reconnection makes visible our right to desire, to play, and to rest. To the extent that we integrate these vital layers—productivity and leisure, caring for others and self-care—we weave a less fragmented identity. Ceasing to judge our needs as “childish” to recognize them as legitimate dismantles the idea that we are only worth what we do and not what we are.

Making space for tenderness

Healing requires two ingredients scarce in the culture of immediacy: slowness and delicacy. The first grants us time to look unhurriedly at what hurts; the second invites us to treat ourselves with the same consideration we would offer a real child. Ursula shares a basic resource: stopping each morning and silently asking “How do I feel?”. The answer, she clarifies, usually first emerges as a bodily sensation—a tightness in the chest, back pain—before translating into words. Allowing that perception to complete through diaphragmatic breathing avoids judgment and legitimizes the emotion.

Cultivating tenderness also means allowing ourselves to make mistakes. If we discover anxiety and, even so, rush into the day, we don’t add guilt; we simply try again. This cycle of listening, validation, and slow adjustment re-educates our nervous system to perceive internal security, an essential requirement before offering authentic care to others.

When the body claims its part

The inner child not only speaks through memories: it manifests itself through contractures, insomnia, or complicated digestions. Our tissues hold the emotions that the rational mind learned to disguise. Therefore, any integration process must include somatic practice: walking barefoot for a few minutes, swinging our arms, lying on our backs and feeling the support of each vertebra. These gestures teach the body that it is no longer trapped in the past and that today it can move, choose, and rest.

Incorporating small “body scans” in the middle of the day reinforces the connection: where is there tension? what posture do I adopt when I demand too much of myself? what part asks for softness? Responding with slow stretches, a glass of water, or a change of pace turns the organism into an ally of the mind, not a container of old burdens.

Fragmentation: the risk of ignoring wounds

When childhood emotional needs are neglected, fragmentation occurs: we begin to define ourselves by labels—mother, producer, caregiver—and set aside essential components such as play, pleasure, or creativity. This internal division perpetuates the feeling of insufficiency because no isolated part can represent us completely.

Reconnecting with the inner child reconfigures the map: we are no longer loose pieces but a coherent organism in which desire and responsibility coexist. By remembering that personal worth is not negotiated—it is breathed, incorporated—identity expands and it becomes more difficult for external pressures to determine who we should be.

Guided visualization exercise: an encounter with your inner child

Before sleeping or in a quiet moment, give yourself ten to fifteen minutes for this inner journey. The intention is not to “relive” the past, but to offer your nervous system an experience of security that rewrites emotional memory. Ursula explains that the secret lies in gentle consistency: “Every time I repeat the visualization, the child arrives with less fear and more curiosity” (00:25:40). That’s why she advises practicing it for a week straight and then returning to it when the need for containment arises.

1. Prepare the space. Sit or lie down comfortably; turn off notifications and place one hand on your belly. Breathe through your nose counting to four and exhale counting to six three times in a row.
2. Create the path. Visualize your bare feet on a path: warm sand, fresh grass, or forest earth. Observe colors, smells, and sounds (birds, breeze, a stream).
3. Reach the clearing. The path leads to a safe place—a secret garden, a secluded beach—illuminated by soft light. Sit there and let your breathing settle.
4. Invite your child. With each inhalation mentally say “come” and with each exhalation “I am here.” Imagine a childhood version of yourself approaching; observe her age, her posture, the expression on her face.
5. First contact. Slowly, introduce yourself: tell her your adult name, your current age, and something you admire about her (her laugh, her curiosity, her resilience). Ask: “How do you feel today?” and remain in inner silence to “listen” for the answer as a bodily sensation, image, or word.
6. Offer care. If the child seems restless, suggest a simple game (blowing soap bubbles, drawing in the sand) or promise to return the next day. If she accepts, imaginarily hug her and repeat: “Today I can take care of you.”
7. Conscious closing. Thank her for her presence and say “see you soon.” Retrace the path until you perceive the current room. Move your fingers and toes, gently turn your neck, and open your eyes.
8. Brief record. Write down three things: how your child appeared, what emotion predominated, and what she needed to hear. This journal creates continuity between practices and reinforces the feeling of accompaniment.

There are clear signs that therapeutic accompaniment can be decisive: disproportionate reactions that repeat, self-demands that border on cruelty, difficulty feeling pleasure, or episodes of anxiety that do not subside with self-care techniques. Ursula remembers her own turning point: “I was lucky enough to find an excellent therapist” (00:08:55), and since then she has integrated therapy as part of her emotional hygiene.

Asking for help does not diminish autonomy; it amplifies it. By delegating the technical framework to a professional, we gain energy for deep work: reliving memories, naming the unnameable, and rehearsing new behaviors in a safe space. In addition, the external perspective detects patterns that habit normalizes, offering perspectives that accelerate recovery.

Seven daily gestures that nourish integration

Below is a minimal repertoire—easy to adjust to any agenda—that reinforces the dialogue between adult and inner child. Before implementing them, set an intention: this is not a to-do list, but invitations to tenderness.

1. Morning question: upon waking, place a hand on your belly and ask “How do I feel today?”.
2. Drink consciously: choose an infusion or glass of water; as you drink it, thank your body for its work.
3. Micro-pause for a hug: wrap your arms around your shoulders for three slow breaths.
4. One-minute free movement: dance, stretch, or shake your torso without choreography, just to feel internal space.
5. Affectionate voice note: record an encouraging message on your phone addressed to the child you were and listen to it when self-criticism arises.
6. Anchor object: carry a small symbol—a shell, bracelet, dried petal—that reminds you of your commitment to care.
7. Closing ritual: before sleeping, write a line answering: “What did my child need today and how did I offer it to her?”.

Although simple, these gestures create micro-circuits of security: every time we choose calm over haste, we reinforce the neuroplasticity involved in self-regulation and facilitate that adult responses replace inherited reactions.

Final words: Harvesting integration

Reconnecting with the inner child is not a therapeutic fad, but a reparenting process: we turn self-criticism into guidance, demands into care, and the past into a source of wisdom. When Ursula shares that she “constantly had to adapt to someone else’s needs, not mine” (00:04:52), she reminds us of the power of those early lessons; but she also shows that history doesn’t dictate the ending. Today, her routine of emotional exploration makes her a model of empathic leadership, proof that healing is possible without giving up ambition or joy.

The invitation, then, is twofold: to look back with the gentleness of someone holding a frightened child’s hand and, at the same time, to project forward with the firmness of someone who knows they deserve a full place in the world. Every conscious breath, every limit expressed without guilt, every moment of recovered play expands that space. And as we nurture the child we once were, we discover that the adult we are finally allowed to live—and lead—with all her heart.

Watch the companion episode, Reconnecting with the Inner Child: Education and Empowerment, on our YouTube channel https://youtu.be/Z-Wfz8aEDc4

This article is part of the Eva’s Pen section of Yuriyana Club, a space created by women for women.